Saturday
Good morning again! I didn't get this ENVELOPED yesterday before thepostman came, so I'll add some more. We have one mail a day at twelveo'clock. Rural delivery is a blessing to the farmers! Our postman notonly delivers letters, but he runs errands for us in town, at fivecents an errand. Yesterday he brought me some shoe-strings and a jarof cold cream (I sunburned all the skin off my nose before I got my newhat) and a blue Windsor tie and a bottle of blacking all for ten cents.That was an unusual bargain, owing to the largeness of my order.
Also he tells us what is happening in the Great World. Several peopleon the route take daily papers, and he reads them as he jogs along, andrepeats the news to the ones who don't subscribe. So in case a warbreaks out between the United States and Japan, or the president isassassinated, or Mr. Rockefeller leaves a million dollars to the JohnGrier Home, you needn't bother to write; I'll hear it anyway.
No sign yet of Master Jervie. But you should see how clean our houseis--and with what anxiety we wipe our feet before we step in!
I hope he'll come soon; I am longing for someone to talk to. Mrs.Semple, to tell you the truth, gets rather monotonous. She never letsideas interrupt the easy flow of her conversation. It's a funny thingabout the people here. Their world is just this single hilltop. Theyare not a bit universal, if you know what I mean. It's exactly thesame as at the John Grier Home. Our ideas there were bounded by thefour sides of the iron fence, only I didn't mind it so much because Iwas younger, and was so awfully busy. By the time I'd got all my bedsmade and my babies' faces washed and had gone to school and come homeand had washed their faces again and darned their stockings and mendedFreddie Perkins's trousers (he tore them every day of his life) andlearned my lessons in between--I was ready to go to bed, and I didn'tnotice any lack of social intercourse. But after two years in aconversational college, I do miss it; and I shall be glad to seesomebody who speaks my language.
I really believe I've finished, Daddy. Nothing else occurs to me atthe moment--I'll try to write a longer letter next time.
Yours always, Judy
PS. The lettuce hasn't done at all well this year. It was so dryearly in the season.